


Bury the Hatchet

by BeatrixGtheMaskedDogNoobsomeExagerjunk



Series: sepelire securi [1]
Category: Black Friday - Team StarKid, Hatchetfield Musicals - Team StarKid, The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Timeline, Alternate Universe, Aromantic Asexual Grace Chastity, Gen, Generation Gap, Ghosts, Hatchetfield Disdain for Clivesdale, Hatchetfield High and Its Rivalry with Sycamore, Headcanon, In Which I Claim Linda Monroe's Four Beautiful Blond Boys, Name Redaction, Nerdy Prudes Must Die Speculation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Possession, Religious Discussion, Sexuality Crisis, Tags May Change, The Black and White (Black Friday), The Foster Sisters and Green Make It to California, Wilbur Cross is Not Evil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:00:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25015858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeatrixGtheMaskedDogNoobsomeExagerjunk/pseuds/BeatrixGtheMaskedDogNoobsomeExagerjunk
Summary: Hatchetfield--literally a grave of axes, figuratively an origin of storms--was a unique place, just as intended by the design of the two brothers in the sky that created the multiverse. It confounds P.E.I.P. how one island could invoke trouble so frequently.This timeline's, or this universe's trouble? The Ghost of Gray, whose unfinished business lies in bringing about a brand new order that can satisfy everyone's collective yearnings without catastrophe or sacrifice. Her manner and intention are in conflict with the interests of the deities that inhabit the Black and White, the place of which she had blurred with a higher power, prompting the services of a warrior of darkness and a prophet of light. Tasked by the gods to stop her, she seeks the aid of a virgin sage, a virgin sage with the intelligence and the dignity to convince the world around them that the way society behaves is in the wrong.(Updates are irregular.)
Relationships: Alice/Deb (The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals), Gary Goldstein/Gerald Monroe, Gary Goldstein/Linda Monroe, Grace Chastity & Hot Chocolate Boy, John McNamara/Original Male Character(s), Wilbur Cross & Hannah Foster
Series: sepelire securi [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1751995
Kudos: 6





	1. Lessons in Power Use

**Author's Note:**

> **Before you begin, dear reader, it is imperative that you read the five previous parts of the Sepelire Securi series. These five serve as prologues, drops from this particular string showing every imaginable possibility within the Hatchetfield Multiverse of the Langs.**
> 
> **If you have read them already, be prepared for an influx of original characters that are integral to the message of the timeline, as well as the continued tradition from within this series of name redaction. These serve as a reference to one of the timeline's themes, as well as means for this fanfiction's author to adjust to any unknown information that the Langs refuse to disclose. Occasionally, the author will name the redacted. This will not be consistent, and you will be warned in the notes for any erasure of redaction.**
> 
> **Headcanons, attempted worldbuilding, and speculations by the author are integral to the story. She will not adjust her views to the whims of the readers (within reason).**
> 
> **The author, from here on out, apologizes for any offending content that she fails to warn you for within the story. (She's also not American and may get some cultural cues and references wrong.)**

For the first time in ages, the voice of the Spider had been silenced in Hannah’s brain.

For the first time in ages, Hannah felt genuine uncertainty.

Lex and Ethan repeated to her just how serious their respective auditions were—she watched the two teens’ frantic motions of changing, spraying deodorant, and scarfing down the breakfast Lex bought that morning.

“You have to promise that you’ll be good, alright?” Lex Foster was crouched over her sister, one hand on the young teen’s shoulder and the other holding a script.

“Most especially that we got a babysitter that we trust,” Ethan Green was wearing an office dress blouse that was tucked in one of Lex’s slacks (he didn’t have any clean pants that day), with his totally-borrowed laptop in a totally-borrowed bag.

“Babysitter?” Hannah did not remember being informed about that, or having one in a long time, “...I-I’m thirteen—“

“I know,” Lex glared at Ethan with a mix of annoyance and pity, “but none of us are still used to this beautiful new place, and none of us think it’s a good idea to leave you alone in this unfamiliar, beautiful new place—“

“He’s real nice, we’ve been talking a lot,” Ethan tried to escalate the conversation, trying not to get late, “and he’ll be here anytime! He said he took care of some of my cousins,“

“It’s going to be fine, okay, Banana?” Lex raised herself, “I want you to have a good day.”

It’s been two hours since that... _nightmare_.

“Hannah?”

She could only nod hesitantly.

A knock on the door made the two teens rush to it—the babysitter was there.

The sun glared at Hannah’s eyes as the two rushed out, barely coherently greeting the babysitter.

The door remained a bit open, the shadow of the visitor slowly pouring into the house.

He sounded familiar.

“...take care, alright?” He winked at them as he stepped inside the house.

“It’s you!” 

The babysitter faced her with a smirk on his face.

Hannah stepped back, pointing, “Cross!”

“No shit!” Wiley slammed the door behind him, bringing the entire apartment to darkness.

The old colonel wore all-denim: hat, jacket, and pants. Under the jacket was a black shirt with green ocean print, and on the jacket was a bunch of pins that reminded Hannah of her sister’s denim backpack, which also had pins. He wore black leather shoes and a watch on his left wrist; the strap was black too.

“Is that girl your sister?”

Hannah nodded.

A snicker, “Tell her I said that she’s pretty,”

“Gross!” Hannah blurted out at the chuckling man in disgust. 

The room lit up a little as her discomfort waned, “How did you find me?”

“Benefits of serving Wiggly—a knowledge of constants, of unchangeably true things! It is certain that within our universe, you’d be in this shitty apartment in California.”

“B-but black and white?” She was confused, “Did you cross the door?”

“No. I’d attribute that to another benefit, one that I feel applies to the both of us.”

“...are you sure?”

“I had to study a little before coming here, Hannah!” Wiley began to scan the apartment, taking a seat at the tiny table in the center of the room, “it’s part of the job description, after all.”

Hannah walked towards him, remaining cautious.

“Surely you’re aware of your powers and how to use them, right?” He looked at her.

“Powers?”

“Powers! Y’know, those gifts Webby’s given you,” He stopped himself, “How long have you been hearing her, anyway?”

“I always hear Webby.”

“Yeah, since when?”

“...since when?”

Wiley clasped his hands, “Was she always just there?”

She nodded.

“Well, I’ve been serving Wiggly for thirteen—well, fourteen by this year—thirteen years now. Haven’t gone out of the black and white in a while, to be honest.” He slouched into the chair, “How old are you?”

“Thirteen. F-Fourteen this year...”

“Ah!” He repressed his horrifying realization, giving way instead to this one, “I just realized I haven’t eaten or drank in thirteen years!”

“Sandwich?” She asked him, clearly as alerted as he was.

“Can I have the premade one?”

Although confused at this knowledge, she nodded.

Suddenly, a sandwich manifested into Wiley’s hand, still wrapped in plastic.

Hannah’s eyes widened at the sight.

He tore the wrapper, “What the fuck are you looking at, Hannah? It’s from your fridge, ain’t it?”

“...h-how?”

“Basic summoning?! Anybody with connections to the black and white can do it!”

“I-I didn’t know,”

“Hey, I could teach you!” He crumpled the plastic, “try and summon yourself a glass of water!”

“How?!”

“Alright, calm down,” Cross stood from his chair, proceeding to eat the sandwich in front of the girl.

Hannah blinked.

Swallowing, “when I summon things, I think long and hard about really wanting the thing for myself—why I want the thing, why I need the thing!”

“Hmph!” Hannah held her hand out into the air, beginning to yell in extension to Wiley’s technique, akin to a Dragon Ball character.

“You don’t have to yell—“

She yelled louder.

She then stopped, opened her eyes, and found nothing.

“Didn’t work.” She put her hand down.

“Did you even want the glass of water?”

“No.”

“Why didn’t you do what I say?” He raised his voice.

“I did what you said.”

“What did I say?”

“To want the water—“

“But you didn’t want it, right?!”

Hannah raised a finger at Wiley.

“It’s your water!”

Splash!

“Agh, Hannah! No!” Water came onto Wilbur’s face as Hannah continued to point at him.

She then realized the secret to her powers; whatever Cross said, she somehow knew applied to her differently, or at least weirdly, in an opposing way.

“God, Hannah! Make it stop!”

“You wanted the water.” Her tone was cold for the amusement in her smirking face.

She then stopped the water at will.

Cross coughed and heaved loudly when she did, using his hat like a handkerchief and spitting on the wet part of the floor.

He then gave a good look at Hannah.

“In a glass!” Wiley shouted. “I wanted a fucking glass of water!"

Hannah laughed at him.

He groaned, making her laugh harder.

“I guess I’m working with this,” He put the hat back on his head.

He waited for her to stop before continuing.

“Listen, Hannah,” He unbuttoned his soaking denim jacket, “I have been studying the black and white for as long as you’ve been alive. As it’s servants, we’re obligated to save it using the gifts it has granted us.”

Hannah watched him remove the jacket and make the jacket disappear into shadow, then to nothingness.

“That's one way of throwing the trash. Same technique as with summoning.”

Hannah then curiously bent down to the wet floor, stared at it, and touched the puddle with her finger.

In seconds, Wilbur Cross watched Hannah Foster clean up the floor with very minimal effort.

“You’re a fast learner! Took me a year to do that one,” He chuckled self-deprecatingly.

“Black and white?”

“Right! Thanks for reminding me,” He then summoned another denim jacket, dry and with different pins, putting it on his person.

Hannah suddenly began to hear voices, though none of them sounded like Webby. They were faint and echoing in her mind. Oddly, it did not bother her.

Wiley grabbed her attention, “Our next lesson is teleportation!”

"...teleportation?"

"Yeah!"

The stormy day, Hannah immediately concluded, was somehow going to be a long one, and yet, a short one.


	2. The Maddening Monroes

Linda Monroe had four sons, all who were dead ringers of her bold, blonde beauty. 

Her eldest son was Cliff, turning 17 by the beginning of Spring Break. He loved the attention as much as his mother did, but unlike her, had no patience for shallow affection. He liked to show off to his friends in Hatchetfield High, enjoying the cultivation of genuine friendships. He took pride in gaining a small position in the Student Council due to his practice and manner. His mother’s high expectations of him keep him from being his genuine self.

The second was Montgomery, affectionately nicknamed Monty by his parents and the most favored child by his mother. This was because he did his hardest to present himself as his mother had wished. He was almost like her in every way but inherited his father’s submissive nature and lack of backbone. He bullies and picks on his brothers to feel some agency. He turned 13 that year.

The third was River, who was 9 years old. He acted very much like his father Gerald but had his mother’s stubbornness and determination. He was a very irritable child, but also very observant. At a young age, he was quick to figure out and understand his parents’ failing marriage, making him also very jaded in perspective. He, unlike any of his brothers, could care less about his image, which annoys his mother very much.

Augustus, or Gus, was the youngest, turning 7 by the end of the year. He was a very spoiled child, unyielding until he got what he wanted. He is very afraid of his mother, who was very strict with him. Included was the family lawyer who visited the house way more frequently than he should. He's usually the reason Mommy would be busy whenever Gus needed her. Same for his Daddy. The neglect of his parents has left most of his care to the nannies hired by the family. He wants the love of his brothers very badly.

One particular evening, the four boys’ parents were in a very heated argument. Poor River, unfortunately, came upon them in acts of violence. He knows what happened, but has chosen to keep quiet of the nature of the affair. River’s brothers tried to pry it out of him before they parted that afternoon, with River only managing to give his eldest brother some hints.

The consequences of the event have left Linda sending her kids out to various persons the family trusted. Monty and Gus were sent to their Auntie [ **REDACTED** ] in Hayestown, Wisconsin. Cliff was sent to the apartment of family lawyer Atty. Goldstein, upon his own insistence. By sheer coincidence, River had a scheduled sleepover with his best friend Tim around that time; Linda made the new arrangements with Tom Houston, Tim’s father, over the phone. He rejected her attempts to offer him monetary compensation “for the inconvenience.” Tom thought it to be an insult to his dignity if he had accepted.

* * *

Attorney Goldstein lived in an apartment near the lakeside by himself. Cliff had been impressed by the neatness of the living space (minus the stacks of paperwork on every table, that is).

“Don’t touch those papers, alright?” Warned the lawyer, dialing on his smartphone, “I’m ordering takeout. What do you want?”

“T-Takeout?” The teen placed his school bags and luggage against a wall.

“You never had takeout before? The shit your Mother makes you put up with...”

“No no,” Cliff scratched his back, “I’ve had takeout. It’s...just rare.”

“Yeah sure,” Gary didn’t look at him, “what do want?”

“...is pizza allowed?”

“What kind?”

Cliff sat on the singular couch chair in the entire apartment, “of pizza?”

“Cliff, there’s all kinds of pizza, let alone a couple of parlors in town—“

“Just one without anchovies, please.”

Gary blinked at the teen.

“A-Anchovies?!” He asked in disgust.

“They’re Daddy’s favorite.”

“...no wonder his breath always fucking stinks,” Gary muttered to himself.

The lawyer gave up asking for any more specifics from Cliff and went with his favorite pizzeria.

As he made the call, the teen tried to recollect everything that he knew that had happened from the previous night to the current evening. 

_ Shit went down.  _

_ He and his brothers were sent to school earlier than usual.  _

_ All classes got finished up for Spring Break (with the exception of English, where Mrs. [ **REDACTED** ] assigned them a debate/presentation pair project last minute about that gaslamp fantasy novel—to be presented upon return). _

_ He got picked up by Atty. Goldstein, who also picked up the rest of his brothers. It seemed like he knew about the shit that went down. The ride was quiet. _

_ River had that look. He definitely knew too. _

_ Gus whined as he usually does. _

_ Monty teased Gus in response, also scathingly blaming River. _

_ River never entertained Monty’s bullying, so Monty would egg on him and his insecurities. _

_ Cliff envied River’s strengths. He may be the eldest among them, but a 13-year-old could bring him to tears right away. _

_ River, on rare occasions, would berate Monty. This was definitely because Monty made him—a Junior in High School—cry. _

_ All River said to him during the ride was that the entire thing had to do with Daddy’s weird behavior for the past few days. _

“Pizza will be here in about an hour,” Gary cut Cliff’s thoughts. He removed his jacket and tie, hanging them on the apartment door.

Right. _Pizza in an hour. Ordered by Atty. Goldstein._

_ The lawyer dropped River at some house in a nearby residential area. He transferred Monty and Gus into another vehicle. None of them had seen their father and only last seen their Mother early in the morning. _

“What’s going on, Attorney?” Cliff blurted out from his long silence.

“Hm?” The lawyer was preparing the boy and himself some glasses of water.

“Do you know what happened to Mommy and Daddy?”

“I’ll get in trouble with your Mother if I tell ya—“

“What the hell happened?! I didn’t get to even talk with her the whole day!”

“I thought you weren’t fond of her,”

“W-Well, yeah! But it’s like...i-it’s a change in routine! For no reason.”

Gary responded by sighing in frustration, handing Cliff a glass. The teen took it and sipped.

“You wouldn’t think well of them any more than you already do,” Gary said, punctuating the statement with a gulp.

“I still have every right to know though,” Cliff kept the glass cozily into his hands, “River said he saw things going down and that it has something to do with Daddy.”

“I’ve got nothing to do with your Dad, kid,”

“Liar,” Cliff spat. “I heard about the things you do with Mom and Dad.”

“What things?” Gary asked defensively.

“You know what they are.”

“Quit looking at me like that, Cliff! My relationship with your parents is s-strictly professional!”

“River says you’re having an affair with both of them! Like, individually! The balls you have to say you’re ‘ _professional_!’”

“Why the fuck do you believe that?! Your brother is nine! He doesn’t know any better!”

“Yes, he does! I would know; I grew up with him,” Cliff then angrily chugged down the water.

“It’s strictly professional,” Gary stubbornly reiterated through his teeth, stomping towards the sorry excuse of a kitchen in the apartment, pouring his water down the sink drain.

Cliff blew a raspberry in response.

River was indeed correct.

* * *

River was indeed correct.

He hated that.

“You can put your bags in the spare room,” Mr. Houston removed his flannel, tying it around his waist. “Tim, show your guest some hospitality,”

Tim gestured to River that he follow him upstairs, where the said room was.

“You look really tired,” Tim remarked, noting River’s disheveled appearance.

“Well, I am, emotionally,” The blond boy glanced down from the railing, watching Mr. Houston whistle to no one in particular.

“Are there any snacks ready?” River faced Tim, who already reached the top of the stairs. “I’m starving!”

“I’ve got chips in my room,” Tim replied, “Cheetos—y’know, those big, bright red ones?”

“Huh.”

River, now upstairs, looked at the hallway, most of the doors partially open.

“Dude, which one’s the spare room?”

“It’s across the Master Bedroom,” Tim yelled back from the inside of what was clearly his bedroom, “Drop your stuff there.”

That was near the end of the hallway.

River shivered as he approached the door to the room.

The closer he was, the noisier the floorboards creaked.

Locked. Wrong door, perhaps?

River twisted the knob of the adjacent door, meeting a strong blizzard that seemed all too familiar...

_ Mom had been yelling about how Dad never listening to her. He never fought back before, let alone so fiercely. _

_ Dad was good at his job, mighty good with the scalpel. _

_ Mom needed adoration to live—how could Dad forget that? _

“Dude?” Tim surprised River, making him slam the door.

Tim was dressed in bedclothes, a bowl of red Cheetos on the right, and a 1.5-liter bottle of root beer on the left, “You alright?”

Oddly quick of him.

“I-It’s really cold in there! Can we get your Dad to get the heater running?”

“It was warm when I was cleaning the room up—how would the room be cold?!” Tim exclaimed in angered disbelief, “And Dad’s trying to cut the heater time in the house so we can cut costs on the electric bill...”

“Okay okay,” River tried to muster up some confidence, “how about we get this stuff in and I borrow a coat from your closet?”

“My spare coat’s in the laundry, and I’ve got only one coat left,”

“You only have two coats?!”

“I’m not exactly rich like you, your Majesty,”

River groaned. “Can I borrow from your Dad instead?”

“After we get this stuff in,” Tim said gruffly, nodding to the door.

River opened the door, leaving Tim to taste the blizzard he had earlier.

“Oh my God,” Tim began to shove River forward, “dude, move!”

“It’s cold in there!”

Tim groaned angrily and pushed himself in, hitting River in the process.

Before walking in, River caught a face by the bedroom window.

He blinked.

He looked closely.

“Dude, what the heck are you waiting for?!”

The face was gone.

Tim then obscured River’s view of the room, standing angrily in front of him, “Don’t tell me I have to drag your things in here too, Monroe.”

“Tim, I think your house is haunted.”

Tim made a face of offense, then confusion. “Ghosts aren’t real.”

“B-but I saw one in the window.”

Tim turned around.

“There’s nothing there!” He faced back towards River, “Are you seriously making excuses not to enter the room?”

“I’m not!” A sound of offense escaped the boy, “There was a lady in a gray blazer, and she was staring through the window!”

“Wha—“ Tim sighed exasperatedly, rushed out, removed River’s bags, and pulled on him.

River muttered numerous “ow ow ows” as his friend dragged him to Tim’s bedroom.

When let go, “What the hell was that, Tim?! That hurt!”

“Quit whining, you baby,” Tim was at his closet, rummaging for his coat.

The coat was blue, made from a mix of wool and another material I cannot remember, with a rust-colored (but not rusty) zipper. The collar and cuffs had bright red decorative buttons.

“Fetch,” Tim commanded, tossing the coat to River.

River caught it in time, spreading it out to look at it.

“For something that’s clearly cheap, it’s really stylish,” River remarked, unzipping the coat, “why don’t you wear this one to school more often?”

Tim’s annoyances with River were replaced with sadness.

“Mom used to always wear a hoodie. It was blue like that coat.”

River looked at Tim, then looked at the coat.

"She always wore blue..."

His Mom would never wear something like a hoodie. Hell, she rarely liked the bold colors found on the coat, wanting to “resemble a Manet than a Monet.”

River never understood that comment, nor how little the figure of speech actually conveyed his Mother’s true meaning.

“I don’t know if it’s too weird to, um, talk about, but your Mom wore a hoodie? Like, all the time?”

The boys stared at each other.

Tim shut the doors to his closet, “y-yeah. She did. Blue things feel kinda weird now.”

“Was that her favorite color?”

“I think?” The two were now seated on the bed, with Tim at the foot and River at the side facing the door, “She never really had one favorite color.”

_ Mom never told River what her favorite color was. Dad liked mauve, because “everyone looks so much better in it.” _

River got up and put up the coat. “I think I’m ready to go into the room now.”

“So you were afraid this whole time?”

“No!”

Tim raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, fine,” River walked out of the room, “I saw what I saw.”

Tim giggled back as he followed River, closing the door behind him.

Tim stopped his giggling, noticing how quickly River fell out of the light mood he was trying to make.

“Did something happen before you got here?”

River’s hand clasped the knob of the spare room’s door.

“Yo, Monroe?”

River headed inside.

Tim ran quickly after, meeting River seated on the floor, looking nowhere.

“The least you could do answer, dude,” He shut the door behind him, “especially since you made me talk about **Mom**.”

Tim sat next to River.

River then laid himself flat on the floor.

“Mom and Dad got into a fight.”

“...how bad was it?”

“...very, I guess. Blood means ‘very bad’, right?”

“Oh,” _Flash._

“Yeah,” _The lawyer, the lawyer...they’ve been sleeping with the lawyer, and neither of them knew, somehow,_ “I think this was the peak of their fighting.”

“It’s not your fault, man,” _Bang—_

“God! Why doesn’t Mom ever listen to Dad? It’s always her damn way all the time!” 

River began to sob.

* * *

_"I came out clearly to you on our honeymoon! How could you forget something so important, Linda?!"_

_"I thought it was clear that you don't touch what's mine, and I don't touch what's yours in return!"_

_"You're one to talk, you hypocritical bitch!"_

_"And you don't," Struggle, "k-know your place in my fucking house!"_

_"Your house?"_

_"I-Is that what you're resorting to, Gerald?" A sarcastic scoff, "You're gonna try and hurt me with your itty bitty cosmetics toys?"_

_"If I can fix your face, I can just as well fuck it up!"_

* * *

“Dude dude dude,” Tim immediately tried to console the other boy. “You’re gonna be okay here, they’re not gonna fight here—“

“Dad’s not okay, Daddy’s not okay,” River pounded his fists on the floor, “he‘s the one with the scalpel, but he’s the one who’s not okay—“

“Shhh,” Tim tried to make River sit up into a more comfortable position.

River calmed a little, looking at Tim to regain his needed comfort. 

He’s not alone. He’s okay now.

“I’m sorry, Tim.”

“Dad gets flashbacks a lot. Sometimes, they go like this.”

“Oh,”

“Yeah, I’m used to it by now.”

Tim reached for the Cheetos nearby. “Here. Get some.”

River happily took a fistful and ate them all up. The spiciness kept him from quickly replenishing.

As Tim got his fill, River then asked, “What movie did you have in mind?”

Tim swallowed the Cheetos, “I’ve got a torrent on the _Ghostbusters reboot_.”

“That movie sucks though?”

“Exactly why we’re watching it,” Tim took more Cheetos, more accustomed to spiciness than River.

“Do you have one for _Into the Spiderverse_? I haven’t seen it yet.”

“Really? You haven’t seen it?”

“Haven’t.”

“Yeah, I scream spoilers during rewatches...”

“How?!”

“It’s kinda like when you discover something you didn’t see the first time and then it just gets pointed out but it won’t make sense until you’ve seen the whole thing,”

“Fine, fine...” River brainstormed. “ _Bird Box_? Wait, do you guys have Netflix?”

“I don’t wanna watch a thriller,  man,” Tim got more Cheetos, "Plus, I don't think we're old enough to watch that."

“But you do have Netflix, though?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Wait! Let’s just watch _Shrek_!”

Tim paused in his apparent cycle of picking and eating Cheetos.

“I hate that you came to the idea before I did.”

“Hey!” Mr. Houston was heard climbing upstairs, “the pizza’s here!”


End file.
